It was not part of my choreography.
The 5-7 year olds squealed excitedly and pointed in an exaggerated dance of desperation at a dot on the stage.
"Bee. Bee! Bumble Beeeeeee!!" they screamed mid-routine.
What else could I do? I had the cassette stopped (yes, cassette, it was that long ago), and pranced on stage to see what the commotion was all about.
Small children hid behind me and clung to my panty hosed legs. I gingerly peered into the circle to find... a floundering fly.
I had stopped my recital for a floundering, three quarters dead, fly.
I turned to the audience and smiled. "No bee. Just a fly. The show can go on."
An Assistant carried broom and dustpan onstage, swept the now-dead fly into the pan, and exited stage left with a grand flourish.
The cassette was re-cued, the dancers set in their opening poses, and the show went on.
How many times in life do we panic and think we are encountering a burly bumble bee, when, in fact, it is only a floundering fly we must deal with? I know, personally, that I am guilty of this. I panic. I worry. I think the worst. I prepare for it. I succumb to it. Then, when I actually have to have an encounter or deal with the "huge" problem, it is nothing more than an almost-dead fly.
What if, instead, we decided that every problem would be only a close to the end fly? An issue we can handle with a soft slap, a swish of a broom, a squish of our toe? What if we try that plan of attack?
Sure, it is still A Buzz... but there is no sting.
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